


dizzy

by americangrunge



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Porn with Feelings, Smut, a little angst a little fluff, lucas is a simp, more like mildly displeased acquaintances to fuck buddies?, this started as enemies to lovers but it really isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americangrunge/pseuds/americangrunge
Summary: Undeterred, Lucas gently wraps his fingers around her wrist, keeping her close. “The alternative is giving me your number and letting me know you get home safe.”“That sounds an awful lot like an order,” she muses. “So, what would happen if I take your number, promise I’ll text, and you never hear from me again? Would I get punished?”Something dark flashes in his eyes—perhaps Jade’s first glimpse of who he typically is, confident and dominant and very comfortable playing this game. “Something tells me you wouldn’t do that to me.”She smirks, reaching out with her free arm to graze her nails down his side. His defined muscles flex under her touch as he hisses. “I think that’s called your ego.” Her eyes trail lower. “Unless it’s… something else?”---Or, the one where Lucas meets his match and isn't quite sure how to handle her.
Relationships: Lucas Koh/Main Character (Love Island)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 57





	dizzy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bumble_Bees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumble_Bees/gifts).



> This has taken me absolutely forever to write and post. A lot of life has happened in the time I started it until now, lmao.
> 
> Originally inspired by Bee posting "So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings" by Caroline Polachek in the Discord and my need to write a fic (loosely) based off of it, so this is for her. Special thanks to everyone who beta read this along the way. It's only my second smut so I had to do a lot of research and get a lot of feedback.
> 
> Additional inspo came from Christian Yu for existing. I know he and Lucas don't look alike, but _this_ Lucas doesn't use hair gel, has way more tattoos, and still rides a motorbike thanks to him.
> 
> Playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4cEp2RqF4xZwixNkX665Oq?si=k0EyCLOzSduDeHrUb69xqw).

To her credit, she truly has no ulterior, unsavory motives as she steps inside.

It’s meant to be a simple night out with Chelsea and Lottie. A club, of course, because they never pass up an opportunity to go all-out: impeccable hair and makeup, outfits that are more like a second skin, fuck-me eyes with the glossed lips to match, ones that leave very little to the imagination of how low that mouth will go and how it’ll feel once it gets there.

As they were getting ready, they’d decided the night would be about mourning. No more Hope in their entourage, seeing as she’s too busy fucking some boring librarian now. A “one-man woman” she’d called herself, and Jade can’t possibly think of anything worse. There isn’t a librarian on earth hot enough to inspire monogamy.

So, they’d gone to the club. The high-end one they like in the West End with the fit bartender. Lottie had wanted to blow off some steam before heading back to Oz for a few weeks, anyway. Not that she has to wait long—some stocky blond catches her eye a few minutes in, leaving Jade and Chelsea on their own.

Just as well. Neither of them have much trouble pulling, if any at all, and while Lottie was typically great at running interference, they’d been told more than once how intimidating she was. About time they test their luck without her.

Twelve minutes. Not their personal best, but it’ll do.

Jade has them pegged from a mile off. The shorter one will have money and some sob story about growing up posh, fake humility dripping from every word as he waxes poetic about never taking anything for granted, while his friend—tall and blond and certainly not from around here—will play his good-cop partner in crime. He’s probably very charming, the type who will use his disarming smile to secure the seat at the table and learn the drink order and pave way for the dark-haired one to work his magic.

Because the dark-haired one will _definitely_ work his magic. That smoulder alone has probably been the cause of hundreds of weak knees, the kind of look that gets him whatever he wants with few questions asked besides “yours or mine?”

Jade doesn’t bother to hide the disinterested look on her face, which suits her just fine. She’s been told once or twice it flatters her. Something to do with the slightly parted lips, the steeled, blasé stare that men fell over themselves to have focused on them. And, sure, she’s taken a keen interest in vapid, meaningless sex with attractive strangers, but she isn’t sure she’ll be able to stomach the small talk these two will inevitably require to get to that point.

“Heads up,” Chelsea says, nodding to her right.

Jade snorts, hiding the downward tug of her mouth behind her whiskey glass. “I know.”

“Are you not interest—”

Chelsea’s question is cut off by the blond one finally reaching their table, immediately sliding into the booth beside her, both unprompted and unwelcome. Long limbs knock unceremoniously against the underside of the glossy table, and Jade can already see the gears turning in Chelsea’s head. She never was able to resist a tall bloke, which means the other one will be Jade’s problem for the evening.

“Would it be okay if I joined you?”

Jade cocks an eyebrow at that. The dimly-lit, grimy club hardly seems like an appropriate setting for _that_ level of refinement. “If you must.”

His bravado falters just for a second. Blink and you’ll miss it. Just as she had expected, he isn’t used to being denied anything. “Oh,” he stammers, his eyes darting to the blond to his left who is too busy whispering god-knows-what in Chelsea’s ear to notice. “It’s just… my mate,” he tries to explain.

Still gazing up at him, Jade’s lips stretch into a challenging smirk. “Mm, I noticed.”

He’s fidgeting. Weight shifts from one leg to the other, fingers flexed around the glass he’s holding before relaxing. “So, can I—”

“I don’t know,” she muses, “ _can_ you?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, his features immediately resetting to appear calm and collected. “ _May_ I?”

With a smug grin, Jade nods, gesturing to the empty space beside her. Their night was bound to be interrupted one way or another, and it’s always better to have it done so by someone so easily affected by her. There’s something deeply gratifying about making this stranger lose just that bit of control, of seeing his posh mask slip for only a second.

His presence is immediately felt beside her, heat emanating from his flushed skin and calling to her like a siren song. And, _god_ , is he attractive up close, the type of bone structure that plausibly could have been carved from marble. It takes a lot of self-restraint to not reach out and touch him, to keep her hands wrapped around her glass instead of grazing them along the outside of the thigh pressed against hers. If he’s going to be her only option for the evening, there’s nothing wrong with having a bit of fun, even if she isn’t particularly charmed by him.

 _Liking_ him isn’t a necessary prerequisite for taking him home—or to the bathroom, if the situation requires it—and having him fuck her senseless.

This was a game she’d played—and won—countless times before. She can feel his dark gaze on her, each sideways glance lasting longer than the one before. Can see how jittery he still is, as if he feels the electricity between them, too, but is too paralyzed to act on it.

So, really, it shouldn’t be a surprise that she toys with him. He sneaks a glance, she makes a show of crossing her legs, the garish club lights reflecting off smooth, tanned skin. Another glance and she runs her tongue slowly over her bottom lip as she pretends to listen intently to whatever Chelsea’s saying. She bares her neck to him as she throws back the last of her drink, head lolling to the side just enough to have him wondering how it’d feel to press his lips against the skin there.

A small, private grin to herself when he sputters and tries awkwardly to cover it by clearing his throat. “Can—can I buy you another drink?”

God, he almost makes it too easy. “I don’t know. Can you?”

There’s a sharp sound as he bangs his fist on the table, jaw clenched in frustration. “I’m not going to ask twice.” Sure, it’s meant as a threat, but Jade knows exactly what it is: his last-ditch effort to regain control. The poor sod _really_ isn’t used to not easily getting whatever he wants.

She leans over, lips close enough to the shell of his ear to make the hair stand on his arms. “You’re lucky I let you ask once.”

He looks positively flustered now, a furious blush creeping up his neck, and Jade takes his reaction and tucks it away for later. Wants to save it, wants to memorize the look on his face—the small parting of his lips, the barely-audible groan, the subtle roll of his shoulders. Wants to think about it all later, preferably when she’s alone. In bed.

Chelsea’s still engaged in conversation with the blond one, her eyes lighting up every time he leans in to say something only meant for her to hear. When he pulls away from her and turns his attention to Jade, she’s finally able to take in the lines of his face. Softer than the one she’s currently sat next to, but more rugged. Attractive and one-hundred percent Chelsea’s type.

“Jade?”

She turns her attention back to her friend, who’s looking at her expectantly. “Hm? Sorry, Chels, I couldn’t hear you.”

“Henrik says the next round is on him. D’you want another drink, babes?”

“A few shots of tequila would be lovely,” she smiles. “Thanks so much.”

She can feel the man beside her tense as he says, “I’ll join you, Hen.”

He stands, staring at her with a look that says he knows exactly what game she’s playing, giving everyone else all of her sweet and reserving the sour only for him. Seems like he isn’t all that impressed, either, if the tight set of his jaw is any indication. All Jade bothers to offer him in return is a slow, deliberate smirk. _Game on._

Chelsea leans across the table conspiratorially. “So…? What do you think of Lucas?”

“Who’s Lucas?” she answers, nails clacking away as she replies to a text from Lottie.

“Jade, are you serious?” Chelsea frowns. “He’s been sitting next to you all night.”

She chuckles at that. “Why do I need to know his name if you’re just going to fuck his mate?”

“I’m not—” The blonde pauses and chews the thought over. “Okay, correction: I _am_ , but—”

“It’s fine, babe. Do your thing. That’s the whole reason we came out, anyway.”

Chelsea clicks her tongue. “You don’t like him at all? Not even a little bit?”

“You know he’s not my type.”

“Excuse me?” Chelsea nearly shrieks. “Tall, extremely handsome, and _rich_ isn’t your type?”

Jade rolls her eyes. “ _Posh dickhead_ isn’t my type. I’m extremely good-looking and rich on my own.”

“I don’t think he’s a dick,” Chelsea says. “Plus, he seems into you. He was making googly eyes every time I looked over.”

“That’s just ‘cos I’m fit, Chels. Guys always look at us like that on a night out.”

It takes a few minutes and a disregarded pleading stare, but Chelsea eventually throws her hands up in surrender. “Fine! Just… be nice, at least.”

Jade quirks an eyebrow. “Why? You planning on keeping that blond lad around awhile?”

She moves to protest, but her words are cut off by Henrik again stumbling back to their table, a massive grin spreading across his face as he sidles up next to Chelsea. With none of the same enthusiasm, Lucas stands awkwardly next to the table, refusing to meet Jade’s eye as he hands out shots, two for everyone. Briefly, Jade wonders if there’s a reason he might need to take the edge off. She huffs a knowing, soft laugh to herself.

As he reluctantly slides in next to her—distance kept, of course; no contact—Jade and Chelsea move to clink their shot glasses together. They’d rehearsed this scene a million times before: they’d lean across the table, nearly touching; then, Jade would use a bit too much force, sending the drink spilling over the rim of the glass, sloshing onto Chelsea’s chest, which Jade would lick off with an, “Oops, sorry, babes!” and an innocent smile.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Works every time.

Lucas shifts beside her, clearly trying to appear unbothered. Some mumbled sentence about the club getting too warm and he rolls his sleeves to his elbows, the slight sheen of sweat covering an expanse of tattooed skin—the sight of which sends a zap of heat straight to Jade’s core.

And he doesn’t miss it, either. “See something you like, darling?” he asks, confidence returning with a smugness that doesn’t sit right with Jade’s spirit.

“I see two arms that look like Post Malone’s face, and he looks like a primary school desk, so… no, not really.”

Lucas studies her, nostrils flared as he tries to seem unfazed again. “You are truly insufferable, you know that?”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion of me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Consider the first one free.”

“Well, I don’t plan on paying for a second, so I guess you’ll have to sit there like a good little boy and keep your thoughts to yourself.”

He chokes on his drink, sputtering and coughing in a way that has Henrik leaning across the table to slap him on the back. “Brother, are you—”

“I’m fine,” Lucas snaps, not meeting the blond’s eye.

Chelsea, with a knowing look on her face—yet still pointed, since her request for Jade to be nice has clearly fallen on deaf ears—offers Lucas a sweet smile. “So, Lucas, what do you do?”

“I’m—”

“He’s a psycho,” Henrik slurs, cheeks flushed from all the alcohol and enough confidence in his answer to wipe the smile from Chelsea’s face. “No, wait—”

To her credit, Jade tries really hard to mask the snort of laughter that manages to escape her, but it only worsens when Lucas says, “I’m a physiotherapist,” at the same time Henrik clarifies that, “He’s a… fizzy therapist?”

“A physiotherapist, huh? That seems important.” She knows what Chelsea’s doing, still hell-bent on her mission to get Jade to give him a chance. “What else are you into?”

“Bicycles,” Henrik slurs again.

Lucas groans, tossing back a shot before answering, “ _Motorbikes_.”

“Mm, cool. Whatever.” Then he turns to Chelsea, a megawatt smile on his face as he asks, “D’you wanna come back to mine and have sex?” Despite herself and the horrified looks on both Lucas’s and Chelsea’s face, Jade has to respect the boldness.

“You’re really drunk, babe,” Chelsea replies hesitantly.

Henrik just shrugs. “You can stay over. I’ll sleep on the couch and then I’ll make you breakfast in the morning and we can have sex after.”

“So respectful,” Jade laughs. “I’ll fuck your brains out in the morning, but I won’t defile your honor by sharing a bed with you.”

Chelsea seems gobsmacked. “I…” She looks to Jade, who just shrugs. Not the first time Chelsea will leave with someone from the bar and, despite her friend’s initial hesitation, it probably won’t be the last, either. “Okay. But I want a big fry-up in the morning! Nothing weird.”

Henrik doesn’t press his luck, just tosses a few tenners in his friend’s direction, grabs Chelsea’s hand, and does his best to stumble out the door while she calls for a taxi.

The presence beside her feels almost overwhelming once they’re alone, still sitting too close together on the same side of the table. She knows he’s stealing glances at her again, can feel his eyes on her as she busies herself on her phone. Sends quick ‘ _text me when you get to his place and again in the morning_ ’ messages to both Chelsea and Lottie even though they always do and don’t have to be told, but his gaze is heavy and there are implications and questions behind it that, frankly, she’s desperate to avoid.

Briefly, she wonders if maybe she has affected him more than he’s letting on. Surely a guy like him—so used to being in control, so used to being chased—isn’t the type to sit around and wait for orders, especially concerning something he wants. And he _does_ want her.

Jade has dragged him so far off course it’s all he can do to tread water. Lucas is fine with disinterest; not every woman in the world is going to want him, despite the ego that tries very hard to convince him otherwise. Sometimes they want the funny, outgoing one instead of the reserved one who doesn’t do anything without a purpose, and such is the reality of being Henrik’s wingman. That’s fine—really, he doesn’t mind. Always better to go home alone than with someone who isn’t all-in on him.

But he hasn’t been able to figure out Jade at all. Worse, she _knows_ it.

So, if she accidentally-on-purpose rubs her foot along his calf as she crosses her legs and smirks at the strangled groan that escapes him, who can blame her?

“Guess that’s my cue to leave as well.” No room for misinterpretation, there. It’s as closed-off and uninviting as it can be, yet Lucas stays frozen in place, unable to move aside to let her out of the booth. “Well?”

He comes to, coughing a bit as he shuffles into the aisle to his left. “Right, yeah. How are—will—do you need a ride home?”

Jade rolls her lips. “Are you offering?”

“Yes,” Lucas says, the word breathier than he’d like.

She smiles sweetly, a slender finger moving to trace along his jawline. His eyes flutter closed at her touch, thick eyelashes ink-black and out of place against his cheek. Her lips move back to the shell of his ear. “Then no.”

Undeterred, Lucas gently wraps his fingers around her wrist, keeping her close. “The alternative is giving me your number and letting me know you get home safe.”

“That sounds an awful lot like an order,” she muses. “So, what would happen if I take your number, promise I’ll text, and you never hear from me again? Would I get punished?”

Something dark flashes in his eyes—perhaps Jade’s first glimpse of who he typically is, confident and dominant and _very_ comfortable playing this game. “Something tells me you wouldn’t do that to me.”

She smirks, reaching out with her free arm to graze her nails down his side. His defined muscles flex under her touch as he hisses. “I think that’s called your ego.” Her eyes trail lower. “Unless it’s… something else?”

“ _Something else_?” he questions. “Didn’t take you for the shy type, darling.”

Entranced, Lucas watches as white teeth bite down on her bottom lip, her tongue darting out briefly to ease the sting. One brief, fleeting thought about how it’d feel to have that tongue someplace else and his cock twitches in his jeans. Barely an hour together and he’s certain she’ll be the death of him—a million little deaths he’ll willingly endure.

“Like your girls with a dirty mouth, do you?”

All he can muster is a crooked grin. “And if I say yes?”

Jade laughs softly. “Then I’ll ask you, _kindly_ , to remove your fingers from my wrist and go splash some cold water on that pretty face of yours. You’re about two seconds away from coming in your jeans and not even _I_ dislike you enough to let you embarrass yourself like that.”

His grip on her loosens. “You don’t like me? Don’t you think that’s a bit strong? You barely know me.”

“Oh, were you under the delusion this was something more?” When he doesn’t answer, Jade extracts herself from him and winks. “Maybe you can think about me later when you’re jerking off.”

And if he spends the rest of his evening doing exactly that? Well, that’s his business.

* * *

Lucas spends the next thirteen days doing that, actually.

Jade’s touch is seared into his mind—the feel of her fingers tracing along his jaw, his sides, the way his body reacted to her, an obvious desperation even before he’d let it get this bad, fester this long. The urge was slowly growing out of control, and he told himself each morning that today would be the day, he’d send that stupid fucking Instagram message asking her out—

Because that’d been her play the night they’d met. As promised, she’d taken his number and never texted, just posted a goddamn thirst trap to her Instagram story that was clearly meant for him. Because she knew he’d chase her, figure out some way to find her. Fresh out of the shower, hair wet and droplets teasing down her chest, silk camisole barely hanging on as she snapped a photo over her shoulder in her bedroom mirror. A small winking emoji in the corner as if to say _yes, I made it home—alone. And since you’re alone, too, have fun touching yourself._

He’d barely been in bed ten minutes before his pants were pushed halfway down his thighs and he was spilling into his hand.

It became routine somewhere around day six. Instead of sending the message, he’d lose his resolve, fall into bed at the end of the day, and let her consume his thoughts as he got himself off. God, he’d started to get greedy—always wanted more, imagined more, and it never took long. A vague memory of the perfume she wore, the way it’d smell imprinted into his sheets, his skin; the hawkish look on her face as she’d studied him, trying to decide if she wanted to worship him or ruin him.

 _Bit late for that_ , Lucas thinks as he comes into his fist. He’s already ruined.

Part of him wants her to know, wants her to see how undone he becomes just at the thought of her, almost wants her to _humiliate_ him for what he’s just done—and his hips stutter one last time at the thought, shocking him into contemplative silence. _That’s_ new.

Instead, he stands on shaky legs and moves to his bathroom, running a facecloth under cool water to clean off his hands. God, he’s utterly _wrecked._ He begs his brain to figure it out, get it together long enough to just compose a simple text asking her on a date. The inevitable rejection will quell the wildfire and he’ll finally be able to go more than a second without thinking about her, about how she’s reduced him to a writhing, nervous mess.

His heart hammers in his chest as he fetches his phone and stares down at an empty Instagram message. Words suddenly don’t seem to make sense as he wracks his brain for a way to phrase his question that won’t make him sound like a complete fool.

 _I’d like to take you out tomorrow_ , he types, only to delete it once he realizes the only response he receives will be some variation of “I bet you would.”

 _Can I_ … he begins to type again. Quickly deletes that, too, and types _May I take you out tomorrow?_ instead. It still doesn’t feel like enough, he’s sure she’s going to tell him no and tell him to fuck off, but that just means he won’t be disappointed when that’s exactly what happens.

Before he can overthink it, he presses ‘send’ and resists the urge to turn his phone off completely. He can’t remember the last time he was _this_ nervous asking someone out—but, then again, he was usually able to skirt by on his good looks and a well-executed smoulder. Not now, though. Somehow, he’s managed to become ensnared by the one woman in London who finds his charm repulsive and off-putting. And it’s not like he can suffer in silence, either. Henrik had caught on quickly, sometime during the first week, because Lucas didn’t have much time or desire to go out. He’d been able to fumble an excuse, something about working late, because he couldn’t tell him he couldn’t stop wanking over a woman who wanted nothing to do with him and still be able to look his friend in the eye afterwards.

Their friendship doesn’t have many limits, but that’s certainly one of them.

He’s halfway to Googling “how to unsend an Instagram message” when his phone vibrates in his sinful hand, his stomach dropping to the floor when he sees it’s from Jade.

And clearly _not_ meant for him.

It’s a screenshot of a selfie he’d posted weeks ago on his parents’ boat, a picturesque sunset in the background that bathed his silhouette in golden light. Lucas knows he’s photogenic, looks damn good from all angles and has never taken a bad picture in his life, even candidly, but that one had been especially striking, so he’s not really surprised. He has, however, gone dry in the mouth at the text below it.

_Babe you don’t understand. He’s so fucking fit it pisses me off, Loz. He’s a posh prick but I’d still fuck the shit out of him._

Oh.

Well, fuck. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

His fingers twitch, both to reply to the message and wrap around his cock for the umpteenth time since he met her. And he knows the right thing to do is pretend he hasn’t seen it, not mention it, don’t rub her face in it, because if the situation were reversed, he doesn’t reckon he’d like someone ribbing him, either. But he’d be a fucking fool to pass this up, so he replies with “Oh?” and a winking emoji.

Another ten minutes pass and he’s certain he’s blown it. And then—

He nearly blacks out at what she sends him. Desire needles at his skin like a wildfire destined to burn out of control as he drinks in the sight of her, her naked, bronze skin contrasting against the crisp, white sheets she’s wrapped in. There’s just a hint of indecency, a _promise_ of a whole lot more, and Lucas suddenly can’t remember having seen anything so perfect, can’t focus on anything except the sound of his blood in his ears and the picture in front of him. Wonders how it’d feel to run his hands over all that soft, exposed skin; how it’d taste. What she’d sound like as he took his time unraveling her, if she’d even let him.

A whimper escapes him as another message comes through.

_You can’t take me out, but I might let you invite me over if you behave and keep your hands to yourself until tomorrow._

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, already feeling his boxers begin to tent.

* * *

_Jade breaks their kiss and plants her hands on his chest, pushing him backwards into the wall. She’s a vision in white before him, her lingerie leaving nothing to the imagination besides a plethora of unholy thoughts. Fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach out and grab her._

_She takes a step back, just out of his reach. “You’re a very naughty boy, aren’t you?” she teases, her head cocking to the side as she takes him in. “Can’t ever keep your hands to yourself.”_

_Lighting himself on fire would feel the same, he thinks. His blood burns in his veins, thick with such a heavy desire that it consumes him. He’s still fully dressed yet completely unraveled, so hard it’s painful, and he needs her to keep talking, needs her to touch him, needs her—_

_“Jade,” he whines, his hips betraying him as they thrust against nothing. “Please.”_

_A slow, sultry smile. “Didn’t take you for the begging type, darling.” Lucas groans again at his words being parroted back to him._

_“I’m not.”_

_“And now?” she asks. “Would you beg for it?”_

_“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “Whatever you want.”_

_She raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to give someone that kind of power? You never know what they may do with it.”_

_The words are out of his mouth before he can reconsider. “Darling, no one has complete power over me.”_

_He knows immediately he’s fucked, knows it even more when a cheeky smile stretches across her face. She’s so composed, just standing there in front of him as if he wouldn’t drop to his knees and do whatever she asks of him, like she has all the time in the world and this is just a minor inconvenience for her. As if she isn’t taking him apart at the seams, popping each stitch one by one and letting him hang in free fall. Making him sweat it out._

_Beating him at his own game._

_“Is that so?” She takes a step closer, studies him. Sees the way his eyes flutter closed in anticipation, the intake of breath, almost a plea. “Should we put those words to the test?”_

_She drops to her knees languidly, still too far away, and looks up at him through thick lashes, her tongue rolling across her lips just enough to moisten them and state her intent. “What do you want, Lucas?”_

_His name sounds obscene in her mouth. “I—” His brain and his body are at war, too much information to process that he can’t find the words, can’t formulate a single coherent thought. “Jade, I—”_

_“Surely someone so in control could use their words?” He’s fucking ruined. “I’m on my knees in front of you and you can’t think of a single thing you’d like me to do?”_

_“I want your mouth,” he breathes._

_“That’s not very specific. There’s lots of things my mouth can do.”_

_“Like chat a lot of shit,” he responds tartly._

_“Yes, but that’s nowhere near as fun as the others.” She huffs a laugh as she moves close enough to rake her fingernails down his thighs. “Jeans off.”_

_Jade’s still staring up at him from her place on the floor, her rapt attention doing fuck-all to help the way his hands are trembling. It’s not the first time he’s had a woman on her knees in front of him, but it’s the first time he can’t stop shaking long enough to pop the button on his trousers and drag them down his legs. Usually skilled, deft fingers have been rendered completely useless._

_“You could make yourself useful and help me, you know,” he quips. Another failed attempt at the button before he finally gets it; something between a relieved groan and a hiss as he drags the zipper over his strained erection._

_“Would you rather I undo your trousers or make you come down my throat?” Lucas is too dazed to answer. “You need to think before you speak, babe. That smart mouth will get you into trouble.”_

_“I’m already in a world of it, darling,” he responds, moving to palm himself._

_Jade catches his wrist and moves it back to his side. “No touching, yourself or me. You touch me and I stop.”_

_He barely resists the urge to ask what in the hell is wrong with her, can’t she see how desperate he is, how he’s already at the edge and she’s barely touched him, that she’s already won, might as well give in and stop fucking around._

_Instead, he barely manages a nod. Plants his hands against the cold plaster of the wall at his back._

_And waits._

_She’s still kneeling on the floor in front of him, but the smug grin is new. He cocks an eyebrow, whether in question or challenge he isn’t sure, but she ignores it all the same. “How in control are you?” she asks._

_“What?”_

_“No one has complete control over you, yeah?” She moves so she’s laying back, propped up slightly on her elbows. “Would you be in control if I took this off?” she asks, skimming a finger along the lace trim of her thong._

_His breath feels thick in his throat. “Yes.”_

_Hips jut into the air as she shimmies the garment down the expanse of her legs. If he was having trouble breathing before, he’s damn near suffocating now as he takes her in again, laying bare before him. Her nails graze along her skin—slowly, teasingly—and he watches, hypnotized, as they near her core. A hitched breath, wondering if she’s going to touch herself as he watches. A silent prayer the answer is yes._

_And it is. Fuck, it is._

_She repeats her question—“Are you in control now?”—and he doesn’t know the answer. He is and isn’t, knows the reality doesn’t quite match up with what he wants to say. It’s a struggle just to tread water, let alone think up some smart response to hide how untethered he really is, to maintain that façade._

_“Jade, I—”_

_“You want to touch yourself, don’t you?”_

_He groans, his fingers grasping at nothing as they try to dig into the wall. It’s all too much. Sensory overload. The sight of her, the lilt in her voice as she teases him. He’s always prided himself on his control, his dominance, and now that the trap door has given way beneath him and he’s left suspended, he’s simultaneously never felt more terrified and more alive._

_“Yes,” he finally chokes out._

_Her eyes lock on his as she says, “Go ahead.”_

_The first stroke brings such relief he’s certain he’s going to black out. A loud, unabashed moan comes with the second. The third—god, the third has his toes curling against the wood floor, that familiar heat pooling in his belly, ready to engulf everything in its path. His thighs begin to tremble as he keeps working himself over, and it’s not a second later that—_

It’s nearly the afternoon when Lucas jolts awake, his heart feeling ready to burst right through his chest. He doesn’t bother peeking under the covers, already knows—without having to look—what a mess he’s made of himself, once again. It hadn’t even been this bad when he was a teenager, and it’s this thought that has him stumbling to the shower to wash away his indiscretions. Sets the temperature all the way to cold as he steps inside, standing right under the spray.

Pathetic, really, how he can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t stop replaying in his mind how she’d felt, how she’d made _him_ feel. The feel of her skin on the pads of his fingers, against his own; the smell of her, the taste of her mouth. The sight of her open and wanting and coming undone in front of him. If she’d managed to overwhelm every one of his senses in a dream, what was the real thing going to be like?

She’d told him to keep his hands to himself, but not even the sting of the freezing water is enough to cool him down, so he thinks about it once, twice, nearly three times before he slips his hand around himself. What she doesn’t know won’t kill her, and he’s certainly not planning on coming clean.

Just needs to take the edge off. It’d assuredly be worse to walk around his place all day with an erection, he tells himself.

The wait is torturous. Time itself seems to betray him, the clock barely moving every time he sneaks a glance at his phone. If he goes to Hell when he dies, it’ll just be this, he thinks—the maddeningly slow wait for a booty call he can’t stop thinking about.

Because that’s _all_ it is. He has to remind himself of this when it starts to feel too real, too comfortable, like he’s waiting for a date or something more serious than whatever this is. Jade doesn’t like him, doesn’t like the way he carries himself or any aspect of his personality at all, really. Usually he’d be fine with a quick fling, a casual hook up or two to blow off some steam. But he’s a relationship, commitment kind of guy at heart, so despite his best efforts, the thought of this becoming something more still creeps in every now and then. A daydream.

_Send me your address._

Nerves engulf him as the message comes through, and he must type and retype his response a dozen times before he finally gets it right.

_Half hour._

The waiting game again. He moves around his place frantically, tidying and straightening, lights a candle, changes into something more presentable than joggers.

There’s a knock at the door and he swallows hard, tries to muster up some of his old confidence again. This isn’t him, has never been reduced to a pining, uncertain mess, and he’s so off-kilter he barely manages to make it to the door before the third series of knocks.

As he pulls it open, his face drops unceremoniously. Jade isn’t standing on the other side, ready to greet him with a sultry grin. Instead, there’s a gangly-looking teenager in a uniform, his hat askew as he holds a pizza box.

“Er, hello. Can I help you?” Lucas asks, peering around the kid to look out into the hallway.

“I have a small sausage for you,” comes the response. Nasally and bored.

Lucas chokes, the choice of words catching him off-guard. “I didn’t order a pizza.”

“Are you Mr Lucas Koh?” He nods. “Then this is for you.” The kid tries shoving the box into Lucas’s hands, but he takes a step back.

“I assure you, I did not order a pizza.”

“Look,” the kid sighs, “it’s already been paid for. Just take the damn box and throw it away if you don’t want it. I really don’t give a shit what you do with it, but I’ve got other deliveries to make.”

Eyes narrowed, Lucas grabs the box and slams the door, opting to ignore the muffled _you could’ve at least tipped me, you cheap prick_ from the other side. Tosses the pizza onto his kitchen counter and stalks towards his bedroom where he’d left his phone.

 **Did you send me a fucking pizza?** he types.

_Told you not to touch yourself._

* * *

It’s another week before he can convince her to see him.

A week of borderline begging—because he refuses to actually do so—and teasing and whispered confessions he doesn’t think twice about. He wants her. He wants her so badly he’s dizzy with it, and he’s done playing games. His desire is out there already and it’s obvious. No point in acting coy now.

She agrees under the condition they meet at the club. Have a few drinks with Chelsea and Henrik. No doubt to prolong his suffering, Lucas figures, but he agrees all the same. He just wants to see her; hopes maybe being face-to-face will extinguish some of the heat.

But it doesn’t.

Of course it doesn’t.

They’re barely in each other’s company twenty minutes before he lets her drag him down a quiet corridor and into an empty bathroom. She lets him press her against the sink, dress hiked up around her thighs, and press a desperate, searing kiss to her mouth, all tongue and teeth and sighs of relief.

The first time scratches the itch. It’s quick—almost embarrassingly so—and rough, right there in the club, and all Lucas can think about is the taste of her, how his subconscious hadn’t done her justice. Swears stars pop behind his eyelids and he can hear a choir. Jade had been stunning in all his fantasies, but up close, in person, she’s so much better. As if her body is meant only to bring him to his knees, to make him surrender.

Lucas very quickly realizes he’s got a problem on his hands.

There’s no way he’ll be able to let her go—already can’t stomach the thought of her being with anyone else. _He_ doesn’t want to be with anyone else, and he curses at himself for letting it get this far, for letting someone ruin him this way. He knows without having to hear her say it that Jade isn’t the type to be tied down. Probably goes running at the first sign of attachment. But he can’t help himself, torn between touching himself to the memory of the way she felt around him and the thought of what it might be like to have something more.

The second time she comes to him. Presses him against the wall in the entryway and drops to her knees, her mouth working him into a frenzy before he can barely mutter a greeting. Fingers itch to tangle into her hair when he remembers his dream, wonders if he’s allowed to touch her like that, hopes that maybe he isn’t.

He wants her to destroy him.

“Jade,” he says, a fractured moan punctuating her name. A hand joins her mouth in moving along his length and he swears. “ _Jade_.”

There’s an obscene noise as she releases him from her mouth, a trail of spit barely connecting them as she looks up at him with a gaze that’s been seared into his memory for weeks. “What?”

“I—fuck.” Her hand’s still working him, still doing that _thing_ where it twists on the upstroke. “I want you,” he breathes. “I want to make you come.”

A smile betrays her, the corners of her mouth turning up just enough for him to catch. “Do you _want_ it?” Her free hand moves to his thigh, kneading at the muscle there. Fingers dig into the crease at his hip, the ditch of his knee. “Or do you need it?”

“Yes,” is all he manages to say.

She sits back on her haunches, looking straight out of his wet dream as she stares up at him, her tongue rolling over her teeth. “Go sit on the couch,” she instructs.

If he’s ever moved faster, he can’t recall when. She follows slowly, items of clothing dropping behind her as she goes, only her matching lingerie left by the time she reaches him. His breath catches again, both in awe and in anticipation. Yes, she’s stunning, but Lucas can’t remember anyone else having ever invoked such a strong response from him. Every part of him _needs_ her.

She straddles him, legs anchored at his sides as he grabs the back of her neck to pull her into a kiss. They’ve kissed dozens of times before, desperate, all teeth and hurried moans. This one he’s determined to take slow, take his time, savor her.

And as soon as he feels her tense, as soon as she pulls away and moves her lips to a spot just below his ear, he knows he has the answer to a question he never bothered to ask.

Teeth graze his earlobe. “I’ve been thinking about these,” she says, her nails dragging up and down his thighs. “Wanna get myself off on you.”

A loud whine escapes him, hips rocking forward to press his erection against her clothed center. Decides to take a risk and dig his fingers into her hips, a stray hope he might leave a mark, have just that bit of claim to her. Uses his leverage to situate her onto one thigh.

“By all means, darling,” he says, lips moving against her collarbone. Hooks the fabric of her thong to the side, hands still on her hips to begin moving her. “But I want to feel it. All of it. Want to watch you make a mess on my leg.”

She moves slowly at first, trying to find a balance between what she needs and the tempo Lucas is using. A relieved moan when she finds the right combination, and Lucas matches it when he feels how wet she is. She continues moving unabashedly, planting her hands on his chest as she starts to move faster. Lucas covers them with his own, fingers moving over hers as he digs her nails into his chest, drags them down far enough he knows they’ll leave a mark. Thrusts at the thought of being marked by her, of having a reminder to come back to in the morning when she’ll inevitably be gone.

“Fuck,” she moans. “Feels so good.”

Hands still covering hers, Lucas moves one to his neck, praising her as she tightens her grip around his throat. “That’s it. Just like that, darling. You look so beautiful using me like this.”

Lucas can tell how close she is long before she ever bothers to tell him. Sees the slight falter of her motions, feels her press herself harder against him, desperate for more friction, the light sheen of sweat forming at her brow. He wonders, briefly, if she’ll actually let go, if she trusts him enough to let him bear witness to her coming undone.

His question is answered as she breaks into a shaking, gasping mess, collapsing into his arms as he wraps them around her, tangling a hand in her hair and pressing kisses to her temple. Rains praise down upon her, thankful he’s able to witness it. Wants to commit all of it to memory—her heaving chest, trembling thighs, the sounds she makes as she comes down from her high, the dazed look in her eyes as she opens them and meets his own.

Knows he’s going to say something stupid, so he crashes his lips to hers, hungry for her in a way that honestly terrifies him. A way he’s never wanted anyone else. And he knows that’s the catch with her, knows this has an expiration date and pushes this thought to the furthest corner of his mind.

He grabs the back of her thighs and stands from the couch, waits for her to wrap her legs around his waist before he moves to his bedroom. Isn’t sure if he’ll be able to make it, thinks about just fucking her into the wall in the hallway, but judging from the state of his leg, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to afford the dry cleaning bill if they stay on the couch.

Obscene words spill from her mouth with each step he takes and he spares a moment to marvel at his self-restraint. Wonders when he’d acquired it, because he seems to have lost all of his old sensibilities when it comes to Jade. “Want you so bad,” she says, words nearly a purr as she speaks them into the crook of his neck. “Just fuck me right here.” She uses his grip on her to roll her hips, her slick center gliding along the length of his cock.

He growls at the contact, lets her words wash over him and bathe him in her indecency. She rolls her hips again, a lewd temptation and always a challenge. Wants to tempt him straight to the edge and watch as he goes over, wants him to regain control and lose it over and over again, wants to ruin him for anyone who comes after her. And he knows she’s going to, knows this has already gone too far despite only having just begun, and he feels the anger seep in alongside the lust, though he can’t tell who it’s directed at. Probably himself, but that doesn’t reign him in.

He presses her against the wall of his bedroom, presses a searing kiss to her mouth—that dirty, unrelenting mouth of hers that never stops—and he wants to kiss her breathless. Wants to shut her up, wants her to surrender, to beg, wants a million things he will never get.

And, all along, she was right. He _always wants._ Wants her, wants more, wants impossible things. Despite having her exactly where he wants her, she’s going to leave. She’s going to leave and he’s going to be left behind, wanting and destroyed and longing, and he’s none too impressed to be on this side for once.

Because, as he moves her to the bed and drapes his body atop hers, her words echo in his mind:

_Want you so bad._

Want.

Not need.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he says, hands everywhere at once, the feel of her beneath him nothing more than an answered prayer. His fingers move lower to slick folds, teasing, circling slowly. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want,” she drawls, fingers tangling in his hair and _tugging_ , and he gasps at the sting, “to watch you. I want to see exactly how good I make you feel.” His hips move of their own accord, pressing her further into the mattress. He’s so fucking hard, can barely believe he’s still conscious, and he’s absolutely drunk on the reality of her. “Do you want that? Want me to ride you until you come?”

“Fuck,” he moans. “Yes.”

She tugs his hair again, forcing him to look at her. “Then say it. Tell me you want it.”

“Fuck, Jade, _yes_.” Slips a finger inside of her, desperate to make her as needy as he is. Pumps once, twice, before he adds a second. “I want you to make me come. I want all of it. Everything.”

A silent demand for him to roll over as she nudges his shoulder, but not before her hips jerk upwards to meet his fingers, seeking him even though she’d never dare admit it. He smirks down at her, moves his thumb back to her clit just to watch her squirm. Traces slow circles again just to listen to the way her breath hitches, to hear the small, gasping pants against his neck. Applies a hint more pressure just to feel her muscles clamp tighter around him, the grind of her against his hand, hungry for more even when he’s ready to give her everything she wants.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he asks, delighting in the whines coming from her. “First my leg, now my fingers. I think you’re getting greedy, darling.”

She glares at him through lidded eyes. “Maybe I should hold it in. Think twice about stroking that massive ego of yours.”

He finds her wrist and grasps it loosely, moving it down his body to his cock. “You can stroke something else, if you’d prefer.”

Jade takes him in her hand, pumping slowly. Gathers the beads of precome at the head and moves down the shaft and back up again. “Notice you didn’t mention anything about it being massive. Is that what the ego’s for? To compensate?”

Anyone else and he might be offended. But, coming from Jade, it’s just a challenge. Another jab. The game she loves to play and has become very, very good at. A lesser man might not be able to handle it, but Lucas… well, it’d been his game first, after all, and he knows better than anyone that the only way to win is to not play.

So, he withdraws his fingers right as she’s at the edge. Makes a show of putting them in his mouth and sucking them clean, does his best to ignore the obscene jolt of arousal as she mutters a _“Jesus fucking Christ”_ under her breath. “That’s not a very nice thing to say, Jade.”

She rolls her eyes, releasing his cock from her grasp. “So… what? I’m being punished?”

“Only nice girls get to come.”

He’s on his back before he realizes he’s moved. Jade’s fingers are wrapped around his wrists, pinning them above his head. A truly wicked grin forms on her face and he wonders, briefly, how anyone survives her. How no one has combusted under the sheer force of her and that look and everything that comes after it. Lucas wants to burn beneath her for centuries, or however long as she’ll allow.

Her body moves languidly up his own until her core is positioned over his face. “Maybe so, but nice girls don’t take what they want, either,” is all she says before he wrangles his wrists out of her grasp and grabs onto her hips roughly, pulling her down against his mouth.

The first kiss he presses against her is soft, teasing. She groans, curses at him for being a tease, and presses harder against his face. He flattens his tongue as he laps at her, desperate and hungry for her taste, pausing every so often to let her take exactly what she needs from him. As she moves above him, hips rolling against his mouth, his own body writhes at the heat between them, the brazen frenzy that’s taken over her.

He’s not sure how long he spends between her legs, but he knows it’s not long enough. He’d spend forever there if he could, drunk on the experience of her. She tastes divine, and he tells her as much over and over, words spilling from his mouth when she isn’t putting it to use.

Thighs, still anchored on the sides of his head, begin to tremble, energy still pent up from the orgasm he’d denied her. He considers doing it again, payback for all her teasing and that smart mouth, but his body betrays him before he can even make up his mind, tongue flat and anchored against her clit as she grinds and rolls her hips across it. God, he never thought he’d get off on being used like this, always thought he needed to be in control to enjoy sex, but nothing about Jade has ever really made sense to him except that he can’t get enough of her.

As she comes a second time, all he can do is gaze up at her in admiration. He _wants_ her to take the piss out of him, loves watching the twinkle in her eye as she schemes up some tart response. He _wants_ the denial, the what-ifs, the second-guessing that always ends with her a blissed-out, moaning mess on top of him. Even now, when he has her exactly where he wants her most, it’s not enough. He still wants more.

He maneuvers their bodies so they’re eye-to-eye. Allows himself only a second of pride at how disheveled she is before he wraps his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her into a rough kiss. Receives a whimper as she tastes herself on his lips, his tongue, his face. Blindly, she reaches behind her for his cock, hand wrapping tightly around the base as she pumps him. Whispers something about returning the favor, about making him feel good, but Lucas’s focus went to shit hours ago. Nothing exists in this moment—perhaps in his entire world—except Jade.

“Come on, darling,” he urges, situating himself against the headboard. Even though they’re inches apart, he can feel the heat emanating from her and his cock twitches, seeking her warmth. “We’ve gotten a bit sidetracked. I believe you promised to _ride me until I came_.”

She grips him again, aligning his length with her center. The head of his cock teases against wet folds and he moans, earning him another knowing smirk. “Beg me,” she says.

“ _What_?”

Another roll of her hips, another fractured gasp. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

His brows furrow in annoyance. “Jade, this isn’t funny.”

She leans down, her long hair draping her face. “Who’s laughing?” she asks before she licks a long stripe up his neck that causes goosebumps to erupt all over his body. “ _Beg me_.”

“Please,” he breathes, the word sounding more familiar than he ever thought it could. “Jade, please, I—I fucking need you so much.”

“Do you?” she teases, fingertips tracing the ridges of his muscles.

Lucas grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Stop fucking teasing me and ride my cock.”

Eyes go wide, pupils dilated at his dominance, the flaring of her nostrils giving away exactly what she thinks of it. But she smiles all the same and sinks down on him agonizingly slowly, takes the first inch when she says, “As you order, _sir_ ,” sardonically. And, oh, hearing that from her mouth does something to him.

She feels like heaven.

He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it—not sure he’d even want to. Being able to experience her over and over, every time feeling like it’s the first… Lucas isn’t a religious man, but having the privilege of having Jade so intimately can only be described as a gift from god.

“Fuck,” he moans.

Blinding, wet heat surrounds him as she takes all of his cock. Doesn’t bother taking any time to adjust, starts moving immediately. His eyes roll back in time with the roll of her hips, back and forth the way she rode his thigh. One hand on her hip to brace her, the other palms at her breast, rolls her nipple between his fingers. The moan that escapes her is borderline pornographic. Lust overtakes him, primal and raw, and he moves his hand to join his other at her hips, holding her in place as he thrusts into her roughly.

“A masterpiece,” he praises. “You look so fucking beautiful bouncing on my cock. I’ll never get tired of watching you.”

He’s determined to make this as good for her as it is for him, determined to redeem his first performance. Tries to focus on anything he can besides the sharp slap of their skin meeting, the way her body clamps around him like a vice. But she loves to torture him, doesn’t she, because she’s just as determined to put on a show. Tosses her hair back, preens under his watch. She’s an absolute goddess, the most beautiful thing Lucas has ever seen. Perhaps stronger than his determination to make this good for her is his determination to _keep_ her.

He’s a jealous man. He knows this about himself, has had plenty of time to come to terms with it. And, yes, he knew from the second he laid eyes on her that he didn’t want to share her with anyone else, but now he thinks the thought alone might kill him.

So, he rolls them over, pins her beneath him so he can fuck her exactly how he wants. “What are you doing?” Jade asks, eyebrow raised as she studies him.

 _Proving something to you,_ he wants to say. Wants to be the best she’ll ever have, ruin every other man for her. Wants so many things his head is swimming, and as he pushes into her tight, wet heat again, he knows he’ll get every damn one of them.

His pace is slow, sensuous. “Fucking you,” he finally replies. “That alright?”

A loud moan as he adjusts the angle. “More than alright.”

He keeps on like this until he feels himself start to unravel. Starts in his toes, moves to his stomach where it branches out, warm and enveloping. Still, he stays even-keeled despite everything in his body screaming for more. Jade’s, too—the curling of her toes, her nails digging into his back, pulling at his hair. Her coarse, ragged breaths as she asks for more, more, always more.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls into her neck. “Just incredible, darling. Touch yourself for me. Make yourself come on my cock.”

She moans again. “Why? Can’t get me off yourself?” she teases, but it’s short-lived as he finally increases his pace, slamming into her hard before she can utter another word.

Something between a smirk and a satisfied, smug laugh. “You were saying?”

He expects another snappy reply, her smile catching him off-guard as he looks down at her. She’s touching herself just like he’d asked, her fingers working at her clit in slow, lazy circles. Another growl as he drinks in the sight of her.

“You like watching me, don’t you?” Lucas nods. “Then tell me… how do I look?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, knowing he’s not going to be able to hold off the longer he stares. “Like perfection.” She seems to whimper at his words. It’s a sound he commits to memory.

A few more thrusts before his movements become erratic. He can feel how close Jade is and he wills himself the strength to hold on just a minute longer—plans that are immediately forgotten as he feels her orgasm hit her, her walls clamping around him so tight his vision goes black.

“Fuck, fuck, oh fuck,” she cries out. Lucas nuzzles into her neck as he follows her over the edge, coming so hard he can’t remember his own name.

Minutes—maybe hours, maybe even days—pass between them, not a sound to be heard except jagged, labored breathing. Once he regains some semblance of consciousness, Lucas pulls back enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

“You’re going to be my undoing, darling.”

* * *

His memory’s not so great, but Lucas thinks he properly falls for her the tenth time they meet up.

It’d been nearing eleven-o’clock on a Tuesday night when she’d texted to ask if she could come by, which had been out of the ordinary. They _never_ met during the work week—a rule Jade had never clearly stated but one Lucas had quickly picked up on nonetheless—so he hadn’t known what to expect when she rang his doorbell.

“Bad day,” was all she’d said as she shrugged off her coat and pressed a hungry kiss to his lips.

He’d wanted to ask why. Wanted to know what’d happened, but it wasn’t his business, their relationship wasn’t like that. She’d come by for sex, not for him to play therapist. Lucas knew this, but as he pushed the fabric of her underwear to the side and pressed his mouth to her, he also knew her heart wasn’t completely in it, so he’d simply told her to make herself comfortable in his bed while he made her some tea. (He hadn’t bothered to mention he’d picked up her favorite brand whilst out shopping the weekend before, of course, because that would’ve been weird. It would imply things. So, he’d simply fixed her tea and ignored her questioning stare when she took a cautious sip and hoped she knew he cared about her beyond the little arrangement they’d found themselves in.)

(He hadn’t bothered to tell her that, either, of course.)

But the mind is a traitorous thing. As much as he’d wanted to stay logical, his brain and heart joined forces to conspire against him, to wonder and hope for things that couldn’t possibly have been true. Because, as he fell asleep wrapped around her, he’d found comfort in knowing she’d had a bad day and came to _him_.

Somewhere along the line, things had shifted. They’d started laughing together, forming little inside jokes. Started texting about things beyond “your place or mine?” Jade became softer. Not any more _available,_ at least emotionally, but she’d seemed to relax in his presence. Let down a wall or two.

And it’s been downhill ever since, really.

Their meetings have grown more difficult. Feelings had become involved months ago, and Lucas comes close to admitting them out loud nearly every time they’re together. Sometimes, on Fridays, he lies and says he has to work late; on Saturdays, he has to “work a rare weekend shift” or “make a trip back home to Oxford” to visit his parents for pretend birthdays and anniversary parties. He knows he and Jade have an expiration date and he does what he can to prolong it, even when it’s dishonest.

Until, eventually, he can’t anymore.

Until he’s finally out of lies and agrees to meet her at the club, where he has too many drinks to hide how stupidly smitten with her he is and to forget that she doesn’t feel the same.

Until he’s so drunk he can barely stand and she offers to split a cab with him back to his to make sure he doesn’t pass out and choke on his own sick and he declines.

Until she tells him to stop being so goddamn stubborn because she’s trying to help, she’s seen him this fucked up before and it’s nothing to be embarrassed by.

Until he tells her no, he isn’t embarrassed, he just can’t be around her any longer because he’s fallen for her and she doesn’t feel the same and he can’t keep hurting himself by trying to keep her.

Then, she doesn’t say anything and just stares at him with a slack jaw and a mildly displeased expression as he calls Henrik and slurs all his words when he asks him to come pick him up.

Then, he convinces himself she only looked that way because someone like her isn’t used to being rejected, nothing more.

Then, Henrik shows up and Lucas doesn’t bother to look back as he leaves, missing the tears well up in her eyes.

When he wakes up on Sunday afternoon with a mind-splitting hangover, he remembers just enough of the night before to marinate in his self-loathing. He’d fucked up a good thing. Sure, they hadn’t put a label on whatever they were, never defined it, but they didn’t really have to. The _no feelings_ part of the contract had been implicitly stated from the beginning, highlighted in neon yellow and underlined for added emphasis.

But there’s relief, too. He’d told the truth when he said he was hurting himself to keep her, and now it’s over. He doesn’t have to worry about the unknowns anymore—what (or who) she’s doing and how she feels about him.

Because weeks of radio silence go by, so that tells him everything he needs to know. He knew she wouldn’t chase him so he’s not disappointed, but he’d allowed himself a strand or two of hope nonetheless that still feel crushing at times. Mostly on Friday evenings after he showers off his day and climbs into bed, just wanting to hear his phone chime with a text from her asking to get together. Those strands of hope feel worse when he falls asleep alone, no unread texts.

It doesn’t help that Henrik’s properly seeing Chelsea now, so he can’t fully escape her. Still hears bits and bobs about her and what she’s up to, still sees her in the background of Henrik’s Instagram posts from parties Lucas declines to attend.

He’s not sure how long it’s supposed to take to get over a fling, but he can’t help but feel it’s taking an awfully long time.

Another month goes by. Nearly five since the first time they’d met. Lucas starts to feel normal again; stops waiting for texts that never come and stops avoiding Henrik because there’s only one thing the Swede wants to talk about, and Lucas hasn’t quite been in the mood to do so. But he figures another four weeks has done him some good so he agrees to meet him at their favorite restaurant and they drunk until they’re tipsy.

He doesn’t ask about Jade and Henrik doesn’t mention her, just says things are going well with Chelsea and he’s planning on making it official soon. Lucas doesn’t have to fake his enthusiasm and it feels nice. Normal. He doesn’t even make a thinly-veiled threat when the check comes and he sees Henrik’s back to his old tricks, ordering all the most expensive items on the menu when it’s Lucas’s turn to pay, just hands his credit card to the server.

It’s another four days when someone knocks on his door at nearly ten-thirty at night. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach that tells him exactly who’s on the other side before he can pull the door open.

“Jade,” he breathes, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice even though seeing her is anything but.

It bothers him how affected by her he still is, how she’s still able to take his breath away despite not seeing her for months. And she’s still stunning, of course, so it makes sense he’d still go dizzy at the sight of her. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Hazel eyes stare up at him as she swallows. “Can I come in?”

He fidgets, weight shifting from side to side. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Braces himself for a quip that doesn’t come. Instead, she shrugs and averts her eyes, staring blankly at the wall outside his door. “No, probably not,” she admits. Her tone is quiet, almost soft. That signature smug look is nowhere to be found, and months ago Lucas would’ve loved this, would’ve delighted at seeing her so vulnerable, but now it just feels all wrong.

He coughs to clear his throat. “Did you, uh—is there something I can do for you?”

“I came to apologize,” she says, though it comes out more like a question. “I should’ve called sooner.”

Lucas blinks. Of all the things he anticipated her saying, an apology wasn’t one of them. “Jade, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who—” _Ended things_ , his brain finishes, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. They were only fucking, and ‘ending things’ makes it sound like more than what it was.

“Right,” she agrees, though he can tell she doesn’t want to. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll just…”

Unsure of what else to do, Lucas simply nods. His fingers are digging into the door frame so hard they’ve started to turn white, and it’s all he can do to hide how badly they’re shaking. He’s anxious. Why is he so anxious? It only gets worse as he watches her huff out a steadying breath and turn on her heel, not bothering to look back at him.

His brain is screaming at him to go after her. After all, hadn’t he just spent months wishing for this exact thing to happen? But that kind of thing is only meant to happen in movies to people who are in love, and after all this time, he still hasn’t got a clue of where he stands with her. Showing up at his place unannounced _should_ mean something, but she hadn’t pushed when he declined to invite her in, so he figures it was simply for a belated goodbye fuck. But…

“Jade!” he yells down the hallway. There’s relief when she pauses and turns around, even though she stays where she is. Doesn’t come closer, but that’s okay—she doesn’t need to. “Why did you really come here?”

A slow, neutral smile graces her lips. Not sad, but not happy, either. “Guess I figured things out a little late.”

Lucas’s brows knit together, feels the crease between them. “What, that you miss fucking me?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so brash and crude, but he supposes it needs to be said regardless. If any of his neighbors happen to overhear him say it, well, he also supposes they would’ve heard everything that came before, too.

“Of course I miss fucking you,” Jade replies, not bothering to lower her voice at all, “but I think I miss everything else a little more.”

“Everything else?”

“You bought my favorite tea,” she shrugs. “And let me in when I had a bad day.”

He still doesn’t understand. “You told me you hated me,” he says. “I wasn’t aware that’d changed.”

“Because I hadn’t told you.”

“And that’s why you’re here now? To tell me… what, exactly? That you don’t hate me anymore?”

She seems unable to help herself as she snorts. Takes a few steps closer until they’re nearly touching. “I came to ask if you’d like to go to dinner with me.”

“Right now?” he asks, clearly confused. “It’s nearly eleven-o’clock. I don’t think anywhere worth going is still open.”

“Well, if all else fails,” Jade quips, that smug grin brilliant as it returns, “we can always order in a pizza.”

Consequences be damned, Lucas grabs the back of her neck and pulls her lips to his own, desperate to feel his mouth against hers again. Memorizes the taste of her, the feel—smiles against her lips when it’s all the same as he remembers. Familiar, like coming home. Revels in the way his heart nearly bursts out of his chest when she smiles back.

They kiss for what feels like hours. Until they’re both weak in the knees and breathless, breaking apart only to gaze at one another stupidly and punch-drunk.

Lucas presses a final kiss to the top of her head as he lifts her, not bothering to hide the megawatt smile on his face when she wraps her legs around his waist. “Pizza sounds great.”

“Let’s get a large sausage this time,” Jade offers, giggling into his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. <3
> 
> As always, all thoughts/comments/concerned are appreciated and welcome!
> 
> Please feel free to yell at me here or on [Tumblr](https://americangrunge.tumblr.com/).


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